


a Ghost in your Present

by cyndrat



Series: Detroit: Reverse Roles [13]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Android Gavin Reed, Android Hank Anderson, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Twins, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Guilt, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Original Chloe | RT600, Human Upgraded Connor | RK900, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, Role Reversal, Sort Of, Survivor Guilt, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, comfort is a long time coming, dare i say, fairly vague and brief, to be fair it's a crappy situation, very vague
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2019-12-18 15:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyndrat/pseuds/cyndrat
Summary: He's... God, Nines isn't sure what to do- with himself, with the android that's Gavin but isn't in any way that matters, with his pathetic attempt at continued meaningful existence as the shell of Gavin follows one-and-a-half steps behind him literally everywhere he goes.He just wants his android back.But no one can seem to tell him if he'll ever get that.





	1. >Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> this has been......incredibly emotional to write..... and part of why it's taken so long for me to write up this (and Ghost from Past tbh) is because depression is a Real Life thing that tries to grab hold when i work on stuff like this...  
> Anyways  
> Here  
> Take this Offering  
> please don't shoot me yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back! to pain!! emotional pain!!! allll of it!  
> again, uhhhh apologies? because for the most part, this is not going to be a fun ride, my friends.

_APRIL 8, 2039_

The room is dark and quiet, but it isn’t the right sort of quiet.

It’s… empty, with an almost tangible _lack_ of something. It’s heavy, stifling, almost oppressive, and the quiet just feels… wrong.

Because a second floor apartment tends to catch street noises. There are also typically background sounds of the building itself… water rushing through pipes… air circulating… walls and windows and doors creaking slightly with the wind.

Never mind the fact that there’s usually two cats and an android in his apartment these days.

Nines frowns and blinks up at the ceiling. He’s not at home, that’s an easy conclusion. He just… can’t quite think of why he wouldn’t be home. His mind feels fuzzy when he tries to remember, and he’s had enough head injuries over the years to recognize that trying to force it right now won’t get him anything but a worse headache and a roil of nausea.

He rolls his head to the side, stares for a bit at the blue and green patterned chair in dim light that he’s never seen before- but he has seen _similar._ And where? At Beaumont Dearborn, that’s where.

Ok. Hospital. That seems… reasonable, even though he hasn’t actually had to be admitted to a hospital as a patient since the February raid with Gavin and the disruptor thingy.

But unlike February, Gavin isn’t sitting in the chair beside his bed.

He just kinda. Blinks, at the blue and green chair. And then something clicks, and he scrambles to push his deadweight body up on his bed with a sense of rising urgency. “Gavin,” he says, but his voice comes out rough and barely a whisper, and he thinks suddenly that if he didn’t have a machine feeding him medication through a line in his arm then his throat would be very, very sore. Nines swallows, coughs a pathetic little cough. “Gavin?”

Yeah, his throat hurts now, and his chest aches faintly, but he’d rather not think too closely about that cause otherwise he’ll start thinking about grey eyes widening and a solid red LED and- and there he goes. Whoops.

He shakes his head and finally reaches something resembling a normal sitting position on the bed just as he catches a glimpse of a coolly glowing armband.

His android _is_ here after all, though he’s standing in the corner, facing the room - but mostly the door, as if... on guard - and his LED is a soft white. Nines sighs and settles back, gaze firmly on Gavin. Alright. They’re both okay, Nines hooked up to god knows how many machines and he really doesn’t feel like trying to count this time, and Gavin in light stasis.

In the corner.

Nines frowns. That’s no good, they shouldn’t be so far apart. “Gavin, Gav, c’mere babe. Gaaavin.” His voice is still rough but maybe a little stronger now, the faint headache has become even fainter, and his throat- yeah, his throat is royally fucked, but hey, his android’s here and should be complying with his request for physical touch anytime now. Aaanytime…

Gavin’s LED fires up, cycles blue instead of pulsing white, and Nines relaxes a bit more. His android opens his eyes and glances over the room, then Nines himself, then his LED flicks yellow. All without moving an inch.

“Hey, Gavin?” Something isn’t quite right. He opens his mouth again, but the door to his room is thrown wide, a broad figure striding in. “Hank?” God, he kind of wants to know what exactly happened, because his voice has shrunk to barely a whisper now.

“Detective Anderson. Good to see you awake and-” Hank is at his bedside, his blue eyes almost glowy in the shadowy room but.

But Nines’ attention is drawn back to the other android in the room. _His_ android, who still hasn’t moved, and actually doesn’t blink as Nines watches him for a solid five or six seconds. Hank is trying to talk to him, ask him questions, but his mouth moves and he speaks above the android. “What’s wrong with Gavin?”

Hank stills, though he does a very good job of masking it by tilting his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his back. Nines levels his gaze up, daring him to try to lie because he suspects the answer to his question is not something he wants to hear. “I think that he-”

 _“Nines!”_ Connor skids into the room, hurries to the end of the bed and grips the bar. “Oh my god Nines, I was- As soon as Hank got me access to the case file, I thought about-”

“Stop,” Nines says quietly, and he knows he’s wearing a sharp expression that he tries not to turn on Con too often, but the rambling has got to stop. He needs an answer. “What. Happened. To Gavin?”

His brother pales and shrinks back a little, releasing the bar at the end of his bed to shuffle closer to Hank, reaching out to grab at his sleeve. “He- It seems- We suspect that he shut away his emotions upon seeing- I can’t… I don’t know for sure, but…”

Nines can’t let himself think about that broken explanation too much. He can’t, because it sounds like… He can’t. He turns his expression on Hank. “Why don’t you interface and find out?!”

Hank- The android fucking _shudders,_ and his shoulders tighten, and his LED is flicking yellow with flashes of red at the question. That - that’s not good.

“He did already,” Connor says, braving Nines’ glare, “and he dropped into emergency stasis for fifteen minutes.”

Hank visibly collects himself. “Tried to order him to go to the android ward, but…”

“He wouldn’t leave you.”

Fuck.

Nines wants to cry for at least three different reasons, and he’s not sure which is most important to focus on. But he thinks about what Hank just said, and his fingers curl into the blanket because- because- “‘Order?’” He can’t- No, it’s just the word Hank had used, likely doesn’t mean what he thinks it would mean, cause that’s just. That’s unthinkable.

Bearer of worst news ever tonight, thy name is Hank. “He’s like he was back when we first found him, just worse somehow. Back then he seemed to care, now... he’s just blank.”

The three of them all shift to stare at Gavin. Still immobile, still in the corner, still staring towards the door while his eyes glint dead silver in the light.

This can’t be real.


	2. >Coffee

_APRIL 11, 2039_

“Stay in the car,” he says a little hopefully, and the android offers him one curt nod. Nines hurries out of his car before allowing a chance for opposition, and he ignores the temptation to scrub at his hair. It’s warm today, and unusually humid, and if he does that it’ll get even fluffier, and not in a good way. It’s hard not to though, because… God, because he’s almost, sort of, getting used to this.

 _‘This’_ being the silent-unless-spoken-to android. _‘This’_ being the unquestioning obedience. _‘This’_ being the deadly shadow that has followed him from his apartment, to the car, to the station, to the car, to a coffeeshop, to the car, to a witness’ house, to the car, to a suspect’s place of work, back to the goddamn car…

He doesn’t want it, and he doesn’t like it, but three days in and it’s becoming the new normal much faster than he could have ever anticipated.

He doesn’t let himself glance back to the prim and proper shape as he heads into the coffeeshop again. Because if he’s gotta be out and about and putting up with the android, then fuck it he deserves some more nice coffee.

“No plastic shadow this time?” is what he’s greeted with when he strides through the door.

The place is nearly empty this time, one college-age kid poring over a laptop in the corner, and the two workers currently stationed at the cashier.

“What?” he says, settling his gaze on the barista who’d spoken, who he vaguely recalls making his drink a couple hours ago. He heard the question, rationally he understands what’s being asked.

“The android,” the barista clarifies, and Nines presses his lips together to stop from interrupting to explain that he isn’t confused or in need of repetition. “It’s not comin in this time?”

“No.” He leaves his answer at that, steps right up to the cash register with a look of purpose that silences the barista. “Large blonde hazelnut latte, three sugars.” He brings out his wallet, sweeps his card over the payment screen. It’s well-practiced habit, and easy enough to do without requiring him to interact properly with the gal working the cashier, but it allows him to think.

He doesn’t really want to give the barista permission to ask about the NK900 sitting still and almost certainly silent in his car though, so he avoids eye contact, stepping along to the pick-up counter and staring at the interior of the shop. Nothing has changed from the last time he examined it, or the time before that, or the time before that - this particular coffee shop doesn’t seem familiar with the idea of seasonal decor or change in general. Though, sometimes having a space that is always the same is calming.

The barista clears his throat, offers a cup in his direction. “Is it- he, uh… is he deviant or not?”

Nines stares into the coffee he’s handed, musing for a moment. By all accounts… No, the NK900 is not deviant. Isn’t even _‘Not Deviant’_ like the first two and a half weeks of their partnership, because he was still… a being back then. This is like someone had programmed a bot from 20 years ago with investigative protocols and left it at that. Blank, no personality and no sign of deviance, not even the hints that he’s pretty sure have been present in CyberLife androids since Chloe’s first Elijah passed the Turing test.

“It’s complicated,” he says, looking up long enough to shove a travel lid on the cup and meet the barista’s eyes neutrally. He offers the man a brief nod then turns for the door, very efficiently ending the conversation.

The bot should be proud of him for keeping the extraneous stop so brief- except ‘pride’ isn’t something the android can experience.

He hurries back to the car, sliding in behind the wheel again and glancing at the still android. Yeah, hasn’t moved an inch.

Habit has him starting the car and clutching his cup of coffee carefully in one hand as he pulls out of the parking lane, planning a route back to the station to avoid the construction crew in the next block. The NK900 hasn’t moved. It… actually listened to his request this time.

He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, considering that. It’d insisted on following him everywhere before now, regardless of whether it was just to the evidence lockup in the station or to check in on Finley in the apartment below his. The android hadn’t really given him any leeway previously. “Why did you stay?” he asks abruptly.

He’s studiously staring at the road ahead of them as he waits, but realizes with a jolt that Gavin isn’t going to get self-conscious or sheepish or guilty if he stares at him.

“You asked me to,” the NK900 answers, with the slightest bit of something that might be called a questioning tone.

“But you keep following me even when I ask you not to.” Even through his fucking apartment. Because apparently he’s not allowed to forget for an hour that Gavin… isn’t really existing currently.

The android turns to look at him, no expression in those cool silver eyes. “Chances of harm within ‘Hot Shot’ were calculated at 7% considering the low number of customers and workers present at the time. If a hostile were to enter the establishment, I had three different routes preconstructed that would allow neutralization before they could injure you.”

He can’t get over how the NK900 uses the first person words, like ‘I’ and ‘me’ and ‘my.’ It sounds wrong when he knows there’s effectively no one in there. It keeps catching him off-guard, it makes him wonder if the android is going to say something like ‘I want-’ but anything resembling a preference is carefully held up by calculations and predictions. It convinces him that it might as well be a proper person speaking.

It sounds like Gavin.

(It looks like Gavin, it sounds like Gavin)

(It doesn't _look at him_ like Gavin looks at him)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: let's take a look at what happened back in the office building... ft protective!Connor and overconfident!Nines


	3. >Photograph

_APRIL 12, 2039_

“Really, Nines, you don’t have to.” Actually, he does have to. And he doesn’t understand why Connor is so adamant that he leave it for someone else to process.

“Con,” he says, turning to meet worried eyes. He folds his arms, presses his lips together to avoid sighing loudly. “It’s my case, I need to finish dealing with it.” Especially since Gavin hasn’t exactly been around to close it up while he was recovering.

Connor snags his sleeve, the light tug stopping him easily. And… he looks at his brother. Properly looks, beyond just glancing at him. Connor is worried, sure, that’s easy to pick up on. But there’s much more in his demeanor. He's almost disgusted, something Nines has recognized in both their faces over the decade and a half they've been on the force, but it's coupled with shock, and Connor is paler than usual like he's sick.

Like the case itself is making him nauseous, or perhaps the fact that Nines is determined to take care of it.

"Let me do this Con. I- I have to." He hopes Connor reads into his lowered tone, hopes that Connor can understand that it isn't just about gathering the loose ends of his case instead of letting someone else do it. Because it is more.

Because he feels like everyone around him knows more about what happened in the end. Because the pictures will tell the rest of the story that he was too oxygen deprived to experience for himself. Because Connor's trying to keep him away from them, when he hopes…

He hopes that something in the scene will give him a hint about Gavin that no one else has picked up on, because there has to be something. There _has to be._ These photos have something to tell him, he's sure of it.

Connor and Hank have had their time studying them and have come away with _nothing useful,_ and now it's his turn.

He knows Gavin Reed better than either of them do, and there’ll be something.

There must be something in his eyes that convinces Connor, because he takes a step back, opening up the hallway. "Nines," he says, reaching out again. "Richard. It… It isn't pretty." That doesn't seem quite what Connor wants to say, but he's got that look that means he can't find the words he needs and these will have to do.

"I don't expect it to be," is all Nines says in answer, catching Connor's fingers briefly as he walks past. And then he's leaving Connor behind, and he only glances back after several steps, seeing Con looking small on the edge of the hallway as he checks that the NK900 isn't following him. He isn't sure why, but he feels like he has to do this on his own.

_'It… It isn't pretty.'_

He's seen dead androids. He's even seen what would probably be classified as android gore, wires yanked from torsos, biocomponents strewn about, limbs detached. It's unlikely these photos will be much different, though perhaps Connor is worried because of the traumatic event he'd experienced that will be linked to these androids. He takes a deep breath before stepping into the evidence lock up. He can compartmentalize just fine, he's been doing it for years, so he can do it now.

He taps in his password and thinks that he should probably change it. Gavin almost certainly knew it, or could likely guess, and while it's unlikely the android will share that information with anyone unless specifically permitted to do so, it's good security practice to choose something different now that the NK900 isn't the Gavin he knows.

He'll change it - but not now. Now is for calling down the large photo screen and loading the case file and spreading the images across the screen and inspecting the scene and finding some clue that will help him. Now is for pretending he isn't a little apprehensive because of Connor's behaviour, and it's for locking his emotions back so he can look at this objectively, with the knowledge that his android is radically changed in part because of what he’s about to see.

Nines takes a slow, steady breath, and then he looks.

He’s silent, staring at the pictures for god knows how long and he knows his mouth is hanging slack as he struggles to take in each image, gaze flitting around haphazardly between the wide shots and the close ups and the markers. Because… “Jesus,” he finally mutters, rubbing his face and sucking in a breath. But he doesn’t look away.

It's… The hallway is a goddamn mess. Wet thirium spattered across the walls and the floor, probably even up onto the ceiling but no one seems to have snapped a photo of that. He can imagine it just fine though, visual not required because this is plenty. Deep blue stains the hallway so thickly that it almost looks like sections of the walls were painted that colour.

There's a small pile of crushed metal in the centre of the hall, with a ring of space around it that is clear of chassis and wires and limbs, and a vague, relatively clear path from the wall down toward the main entrance, but other than that every inch of floor has _something_ covering the wood. He counts seven dismembered hands, ripped away from the rest of their limb ranging from right at the wrist to just below the actual elbow joint. One of the androids is nearly decapitated, a single clump of wires yet linking neck to head. There are other parts that are connected in the same way, like someone had started tearing them apart but moved on to something else before completely severing the piece.

Like _Gavin_ had started tearing them apart.

Nines swallows, forces himself to continue taking in the scene and taking a half-hearted inventory. Seven hands ripped off, three legs dismembered. Six torso panels visibly detached, each one a different piece.

He notices that some of the androids have their shirts shoved up, realizes seconds later that there’s a central gaping hole visible on a few bodies, and that's when understanding really begins to dawn. The collection of crushed metal in the middle of the hall? Thirium pump regulators.

He wonders when _Gavin_ had flipped to _NK900…_ It's hard to say. It's hard to judge emotionality in the wreckage, hard to tell when uncontrolled grief and rage shut down to make way for the lethal meticulousness of CyberLife's most advanced machine. He's sure there's a level of precision even before the switch, he would expect nothing less from his android especially in a situation like this.

It's a slaughter he doesn't doubt Gavin is capable of, and that should probably scare him more than it does. Limbs and access panels strewn, those androids' goddamn hearts ripped out and crushed irreparably-

If someone were to tell him there are no discharged bullets in that hallway, he would believe them without a second of hesitation.

Bullet wounds on androids can be cauterized, entire panels replaced, wiring redone. But the pump regulators? There's no way any of them could have gotten far enough or held on long enough to get help after removal and destruction. Gavin made absolutely sure none of them would survive.

Especially-

Of the other androids, the TR400 appears worst off, whether because he was the biggest threat or because Gavin had watched him manhandle Nines, he isn't sure. Still, even the behemoth looks like he - maybe - could have been put back together and been functional after hours of work.

Ella Willows, on the other hand, is recognizable, but only just.

Her front neck panel is ripped away, and Nines absently raises a hand to his own throat, pressing lightly. He can still feel some of the bruising. One of her hands is hanging on by a single thick wire, the other- The other has bright red staining the chassis-white fingers. His blood. He swallows, licks his lips, continues looking. Her hair is a dishevelled mess, her face flooded with the blue of thirium, most likely originating from the gash over her right temple. There are long scratches across her synthskin, dragging over her nose and one of her eyes. The visual biocomponent has gone dark, an indicator that it's compromised, and the white of her chassis edges each of the scratches, showing that the plastisteel panels were gouged into far enough for wiring to be poking out.

And that’s only the start of it all.

He understands why Connor looked a little sick.

He doesn’t really want to keep noting all of the damage done by his android.

He rubs his hands into his eyes, pressing hard enough to feel it and he pretends the sensation will scrub the image of Ella Willows from his brain. 

Her destruction, he would say with confidence, was _Gavin's_ work, not the blank NK900’s. He can imagine it now - he had seen his android lunge towards him, then get dragged back, and he thinks he can remember Gavin ripping free from their grip again with a shout, but he isn't sure. But Gavin would have gone for Ella first. Because if he had ignored her for long, Nines wouldn't even be here. So that has to be the way things went.

Gavin broke away from the mass and went for Ella, forcing her to engage in combat which likely didn't last long. And with her down, he'd aim to take the TR400 out next, a behemoth of an android that would pose the most threat by virtue of being big enough to wrap Gavin up in its arms. After that Nines isn't sure, but it doesn't much matter.

Because Gavin thought he was near enough to death that it was inevitable; and maybe emotions hazed his judgement and critical thinking, maybe not, but either way he stripped away any reservations and fucking decimated those androids.

Nines grips the table, leaning heavy on it as he looks over the photos again.

He feels like he has found something, like he was so sure he would, but it isn’t something that bolsters his hope. He’s found carnage and gore, and unignorable proof that Gavin- Gavin, the NK900, he’s not sure it matters right now- was emotionally compromised and sank into grief-stricken revenge. Just like how Ella had been.

Fuck.

He’s found something, but it feels like the conviction of a life sentence instead of the path back to his Gavin.

(The android finds him, more than an hour later. He's huddled on the ground in front of the screen, hugging his knees to his chest and staring blankly up. He doesn't hear the android speaking his name, barely reacts when it steps between him and the array of photos. It pauses there, looking down as if waiting. He meets its silver gaze after a while, and then it leans down and takes his arm, pulling him up almost gently. He goes easily, letting it lead him away)

(He can understand, maybe, why Gavin ripped out his emotions)

(He can read the desperation and devastation and distress and grief in the blue and white carnage of that hallway)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like... this isn't as _emotional_ as I was kind of going for/expected, but I guess Nines has just slipped from 'I must compartmentalize' into just. emotional shock/blankness


	4. >Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoooop guess what y'all this is going up today because someone commented on the previous chapter like yesterday and I figured it's been a while........ might as well finish this darn ch and just get it out of draft mode.  
> shout-out to Pence, Crow_Nest, and snapbackbuddies who've actually gone through the effort to comment on this fic thus far! and also to everyone who kudos and bookmarks! it's always so exciting when I get emails telling me about any of this, seriously I grin and squeak a bit and it's just so great.
> 
> so yes! welcome to the continuation of the building trainwreck that is Nines

_APRIL 14, 2039_

Nines slides down in his chair, rubbing his face.

It's only a bit after three, but it's already been a long day.

Every day has felt so incredibly long…

He's tired.

He's constantly on edge, watching the NK900 and waiting for any sign of his Gavin. 

But for all his vigilance… nothing. There is nothing, day after day, no flash of recognition and no moment that he sees and can say that's Gavin instead of the machine that docilely shadows his steps. 

He's tired because he's always watching and waiting and hoping, wondering if this thing will snap Gavin back, or that thing. He's always on the look out for opportunities to try and prompt it, too. 

He's tired because he isn't even sleeping right, having gotten used to the soft white noise and warm body of Gavin next to him, and Cham laying beside him and purring softly just doesn't cut it. 

He's just done, with everything. 

Footsteps approach, and they're definitely directed towards him. He prays it isn't the android. 

"Hey," Connor says softly as he comes to a stop beside the desk. 

“I can't do this,” Nines mumbles into his hands. He raises his head a little, his eyes sliding straight to the android standing on the edge of the pen, hands clasped behind its back as it observes the space from its spot like a fucking guard dog. “Con, I…” 

He has nothing more to say. There is nothing more to say, because while he's almost entirely healed physically, his emotions are broken and he's only managed to be at work as many days as he has because he keeps hoping for something to click. 

He's brought the android along when he goes for lunch, desperate enough one day to go to Con’s beloved (disgusting) Chicken Feed, but the android always stays in the car when he's in its line of sight unless he outright asks it to follow, and even then there are no comments on the nutritional value of his choices. He’s made a show of groaning and complaining when the NK900 had dipped two fingers in a pool of blood and then its mouth, but the damn thing had cordially informed him of the specs for the analysis suite and the primary receptors located on its tongue, and the excessive reaction had gotten exhausting very quickly. 

He's growled and stomped, driven too fast and a little too recklessly, followed as the android took chase and insisted on leading the way into dangerous situations (he hasn't gotten a single proper lecture yet from Gavin, not one - but a few from Connor that have made him ease up on the borderline self-endangerment) and the android just advised him on less hazardous practises in a voice that is Gavin’s but every trace of emotion is gone as if it never existed in the first place. The only tone he hears now is neutrally polite or distantly informative. 

There's no more personality or feeling in the android than there is in the coffeemakers in the break room. 

“Go home,” Connor says, the words sounding hollow even as he pairs them with a comforting hand on Nines’ shoulder. He leans into the gesture, but the relief of his twin’s small touch doesn’t sink below the surface of his skin. “Seriously, Nines, get out of here. Take a whole fucking week if you need it. God knows you hoard vacation time like it’s gold, you can afford some more time off.” 

He nods, and it feels mechanical, and as Connor leaves he starts going through the motions of clearing up to head out. Terminal logged out and locked, files tidied, coffee mug… He tips it back, sucks down the cold, sweet dregs. And then he stands, mug in hand and eyes wandering without intent to land on a glowing blue Android armband. 

Suddenly home doesn’t sound as pleasant as it should be, because… because if Nines is correct and he really is the Primary Objective, the android is going to insist on going back to the apartment with him and staying there with him the whole damn time. 

He curses under his breath and shuffles towards the breakroom with a tiny fraction of his usual energy. 

Connor means well - of course he does, he understands dark days and down weeks better than anyone else in the station - but it’s unlikely his brother had thought the instruction through fully. 

This is going to suck. 

He's just... so tired, of everything.


	5. >Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what y'all it's only been almost a whole moonnnnthhh  
>  playing with a bit of a different narrative format here... ended up more narrative-y than the initial idea, which was more like a straight call transcript type of thing
> 
> _[also I've gone back//will be going back// and added some dates to previous chapters... cause I decided dates were important to include..]_
> 
> anyways.......

APRIL 15, 2039

“Hey Con.” It's morning, it's… early? No, not really, it's a little after 10 but he hasn't been awake for long. Nines yawns, rubs his eyes. Connor must be on break, or in the car or something. "How's… things?"

 _"Detroit's Detroit, homicide is homicide,"_ Connor replies, sounding perky and tired at the same time. _"I just wanted to check in after yesterday, I know you were… tense when you left."_ Nines notices that he is very carefully not mentioning the android that was the cause of that tension.

"Yeah, 'm fine. Slept alright, considering." Considering that his housemate situation is still two quiet cats and a similarly quiet, barely responsive android. He heaves his body out of bed, rolling his shoulders a couple times. He's sore, a little achy. "How's your day been so far?"

Connor chuckles, and Nines feels a bit lighter at the bright sound even if it's a little distorted over the call. _"Tina managed to slip some sort of sound chip into Hank's hair,"_ he offers. _"It played the Windows start-up sound - you know it, I know you know - whenever he said Lieutenant."_ Nines smiles. He can imagine it, almost- He knows how many times Hank voices that particular title on the average day, thanks to Gavin’s impeccable counting. _"Chris took pity on him about ten minutes ago, plucked the damn thing from his hair and set it on his desk. Hank just kinda stared at it for a while."_

"Yeah?" Nines says when Connor pauses.

_"Chen whined when she realized what Chris did, but Hank disappeared to the lobby and has just been sitting silently in one of the chairs ever since."_

Yeah, that sounds like them. Chen's been getting a little squirrelly, considering Gavin… considering the NK900 hasn't responded to any of her pranks and teasing. It figures she'd go for the next android in the vicinity.

And the Windows start-up sound? He finds himself smiling a little more. God, there are a lot of days he can't stand Tina Chen and her behaviour by the end of shift, but sometimes she pulls innocent stuff like this. The same thing wouldn't have worked on Gavin - there is nothing he says with as much regularity as Hanks utters _'Lieutenant'_ , so this was kind of her chance.

"So she broke him, like last time."

Connor snickers. The sound is accompanied by a distant beep that probably signals the coffeemaker finishing its cycle. Connor's small sound of excitement confirms it.

"I should let you get on with things," Nines suggests. His brother is at work, even if the thought of ending the call makes him feel a little bit empty inside.

 _"I guess."_ Connor sounds… not upset at the idea, but… _"How are you doing today?"_ and there it is.

There it is - the one thing he’d wish Con wouldn’t bother to ask, because shouldn’t he be able to guess? “I’m awake,” he offers as answer, staring at the nearest curtained window. The sun is brightening his room. Which means it isn’t raining, and Nines prefers when it isn’t raining. He’s been allowed to sleep in til after 10. “I’m alright. I hope that we- _I_ can get something done today…”

Connor hums noncommittally. _“Okay. Call me if you need anything, really Nines, alright?”_

“Yeah. I will.”

And then Con is gone and he’s still staring at the curtain.

Staring, and wondering what on earth there is left that he can do to try and snap Gavin back to normal.

 

APRIL 16, 2039

“Afternoon,” he hums, staring at Hex on the windowsill. She stares back, though she's probably more interested in his glass of water than the fact that he's looking at her. He leans forward to put it on the coffee table. Tries not to think about Gavin doing just that before climbing into his lap not two weeks ago.

 _"Ugh,"_ Connor groans. _"It is, isn't it."_ He sounds rough, voice husky like he's been up for far too long.

“Early morning?”

He hears a heavy sigh, and he just knows that his guess was right - Connor’s always dealt with pre-shift calls worse than he has. _“Fucking Rivertown,”_ he mumbles. Nines makes a sound of agreement. That neighbourhood’s seen more and more crime in the recent years, people seemingly favouring the bridge for a variety of illicit activities. _“But enough about that-”_

And then Connor pauses. Not for long, just a breath really, but Nines jumps in anyways. “How’s everyone doing with the heat?” he asks quickly.

He doesn’t particularly feel like coming up with an answer to how he’s doing, how he’s feeling, blah blah… Which is probably an indicator in itself, but it’s much easier to distract Connor over the phone than it is to think up an answer.

 _“Chen hates it.”_ Nines sort of smiles at that rapid response. Tina Chen hates it and everyone’s gonna hear about it before the day’s up. _“Chris and Ben are doing pretty good, but they’re both closer to the vents that actually function and switch to AC when they’re supposed to.”_ Connor laughs a little. _“I have no evidence, but I just know Fowler’s got an electric fan or three in his office.”_

Gavin would either be complaining right alongside Chen or teasing her mercilessly. Or, actually, since they’d found a way to reduce the excess heat some of his internal components were creating, it’s possible the android would be finding ways to enjoy this wretched humidity. He hasn’t had a chance to experience summer.

He’d probably love it actually. He keeps teasing Nines about being cat-like, but really Gavin’s the one who curls up in the very middle of the couch because that’s where the patch of sun is. He basks in the bits of sunshine and warmth the city’s seen so far this spring, and there have been many excuses for why he ends up sitting on the balcony every single morning.

But not recently.

Nines glances towards the kitchen.

He’s managed to convince _(not order, never order, the idea makes him physically ill)_ the android to sit in a piece of furniture when it hovers purposelessly, which means that he startles slightly less whenever he comes across its still, silent figure.

Which means that, right now, it's seated in one of the chairs that’s usually tucked into the table in the corner. Seated with stick-straight posture. Not blinking, not breathing. _Not Gavin._ Not _his_ Gavin, and it isn’t even-

_“Richard!”_

“Oh,” he says in response to Connor’s concerned call. “Yeah, sorry. I just… uh, got distracted.” He tears his gaze away from the kitchen and the figure he hates but doesn’t entirely want to be without. Because what if he sends the NK900 to the station to work cases and that’s when Gavin comes back to himself? His poor android should be with him, just in case, because from what Con and Hank have said Gavin’s last memories would be that hallway and fighting through those other androids in a desperate attempt to get to Nines. He can’t bear to think about how Gavin might react if he wakes up and Nines isn’t right there to reassure him.

_“Are you okay?”_

Nines sighs, and it sounds shaky, like he’s one little push away from crying.

“What am I supposed to say Connor? I’m tired. I don’t want to do anything, because I’d be doing it without Gavin even though it looks like he’s right beside me. I feel sick when I start thinking about this whole thing. I’m trying not to think about the possibility that this is just the way life is going to be going forwards because that’s not a life I want. I’m-” He drags in a breath, crossing his arms tightly and hugging his own body because it’s not like he has anyone here to do it for him. “I just…”

The next words aren’t coming. That’s alright, they’d probably get choked off before he could complete a sentence. So he sits there, sharing the heavy silence that feels like it’s emanating from the body in the corner.

 _“Oh Nines,”_ Connor murmurs after a few long seconds. And then he’s quiet too, like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say anymore either.

There is no script for this. There’s no storybook tropes, no self-help publications or blogs, no discussion boards or hotlines or support groups.

He’s fallen in love with an android that can’t help but keep on breaking the mold.

There’s no one who knows how to help him with this.


End file.
